Beyond that, there’s so much effort involved. The last time I put together a CV, it was based on one I’d created for school. I’ve let all the career stuff slip and I’d have to start from scratch.
The end of the day cannot come fast enough and, for the first time in a while, I’m literally counting down the minutes. I’m the first out the door when it’s time to go but I’ve not even got to my car by the time the next problem has arisen.
Jason is sitting on my bonnet, casually swinging his legs and smoking a cigarette. He looks up, spotting me and giving a small wave. That happens at precisely the same time as Natasha and Claire leave the office. They stop and Natasha whispers something to Claire I don’t catch. I’m caught in the middle, with little I can do other than hurry to my car.
‘How did you know where I work?’ I hiss.
Jason shrugs and flicks the cigarette butt towards a drain. ‘Ell told me. I came on the bus, then walked for a bit.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been thinking things over since the cemetery.’ He stumbles, stops, and starts again. ‘Since before then. Since, well… ever.’
‘Thinking over what?’
‘When I got nicked all those years ago.’
‘What about it?’
‘I was wondering…’ He stops, scratches his neck and then fiddles with the sleeve of his army jacket. He takes a breath and looks directly at me. ‘I guess I was wondering if you were pregnant with my kid.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
I stare at Jason and it’s like being back in Graham’s office all over again. That feeling of dizziness; the confusion, the anger.
‘What are you talking about?’
I’m shouting but it’s too late now. Graham is leaving the office but he stops and stares across the car park to us. I can feel him questioning me. He knows I’m separating from my husband, that I’m accused of propositioning a client – and now I’m shouting at a strange man in his car park. I’m falling apart. Perhaps this is why I’ve been confined to my desk? Maybe he actually believes Declan.
Jason seems unaware of anyone other than me: ‘I was thinking that you and I, well, y’know and then, well—’
‘Get in the car.’
I unlock it and Jason does as he’s told, slotting into the passenger seat as I start the engine. His clothes reek of stale cigarettes, like the smell that clings to walls and carpets and never quite goes. It reminds me of being young and there’s comfort there – even though I haven’t smoked in more than twenty years.
He clears his throat but has only got out the words, ‘I think’ when I shush him.
‘We’ll talk in a bit,’ I say.
I keep an eye on the rear-view mirror as I drive. There’s no particular logic behind it but I don’t want to be heading in the same direction as any of my colleagues. I don’t want to be stopped at traffic lights when Natasha or someone else pulls up alongside me and gets a good look at who’s in the passenger seat. There’s little chance anyone would know him – but that’s not the point. This is my workplace and I can’t have it crossing over with home. I’ve got too much going on as it is.
I drive with little direction, taking turns without much thought, not knowing where I might be going. I suppose it’s fate when I realise what we’re close to. There’s a turn-off that becomes a narrow lane and then a dirt track. When it’s rained heavily, it’s impassable in anything less than a 4x4. A wet autumn will see leaves stick to the mud and then more dirt compacting on top. Nobody bothers to clear it because there’s little here. For now, there is only a thin, dry carpet of dirt. We bump over that and then rattle over a cattle grid, even though I’ve never seen cows in the area. Eventually, I pull onto a patch of tarmac that has long since been abandoned. The cracks splinter in all directions, plants and weeds sprouting through the gaps. The trees hang low on all four sides, turning daylight into something close to night.
The engine is switched off and we sit facing front. I can’t bring myself to look at him.
‘You shouldn’t have come to my work,’ I say.
‘I know, Rosie – but it’s been eating me up.’
‘Don’t call me that.’
Rosie is what Wayne used to call me and then Jason copied him. It’s a teenage nickname that isn’t who I am any more. Ellie only ever used my actual name and no one’s called me Rosie in decades.
Jason is chastened and goes silent, so I speak next: ‘Why do you think I was pregnant? When do you think I was pregnant? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He unclips his seat belt and wriggles to free his jacket from underneath his backside. ‘Before now, the last time I saw you was five or six months before the fire. We didn’t use a johnny or anything…’
He’s right – but I hadn’t thought of what we did in that detail for a long time. I remembered the sex, of course – not because it was anything special, more because I regret everything about it. I’ve been fixated on the act, while he’s seemingly spent a little over twenty years going over the specifics.
‘Is that what you’ve been thinking about all this time?’ I say.
Jason takes a few seconds to answer. I’ve probably embarrassed him. I don’t want to know for sure but there’s a good chance he hasn’t been with a woman in all this time. It’s no wonder he’d fixate on a precise instance.
‘Even when I was on remand,’ he says. ‘I guess I thought…’
‘Why would you think I was pregnant?’
A shrug: ‘Because I didn’t see you at all. Not in court, not in prison. I wondered if it’s cos you were hiding something.’
‘You thought I was hiding a baby?’
Another shrug. ‘Or an abortion.’
For the second time today, I can’t quite process what I’m hearing. It’s like being told stories about someone else.
‘None of that happened,’ I say. ‘None of it. It’s all in your head, Jase. I didn’t visit you in prison because I’d moved on. I’d started seeing Dan by the time you were in court. We got married a year after that. I’ve only ever been pregnant once – and that was with my daughter eighteen years ago. When I conceived her, I was already married and you were in prison.’
I twist in my seat, fighting against the seat belt and then unclipping it so I can turn properly. I want to see his face, to know that this delusion he’s had is exactly that.
I press it because I need to see that he gets it: ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Jason?’
He nods solemnly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It looks like he’s going to cry but I know I can’t offer the assurance or comfort that he needs.
The car suddenly feels warm and the windows are starting to steam. I open my door and offer the best condolence I can with a firm ‘come on’.
Jason follows my lead and we start walking through the trees, following the barely there trail that we used to know so well when we were teenagers. It’s overgrown now, with leafy bushes and fallen trees invading the path. We continue on anyway, crunching our way around the blockages where necessary.
The babble of the river quickly becomes a thunder and it’s not long before I can see the water as well as hear it. The trail starts to follow the river, widening out until we reach a clearing that’s ringed with mossy low shrubs. For the first time in a long time, I can see the watermill on the edge of the bank. It’s ringed by a six-foot chicken wire fence that’s covered with red and yellow ‘keep out’ signs. The building itself is like a shrunken lighthouse, with a circular base that has a dome on top. Attached to the side is the waterwheel. A century or more ago, it was used to grind grains. I’m sure it was repaired and replaced over the years but, by the time we were teenagers, it was our hideaway. There’s a large, rotting wooden circle that looks as if it could disintegrate at any moment. I can’t see if any of the actual paddles are still intact. It would have once been majestic but now it’s a crumbling mix of nails, screws, hooks and wood.
A chill licks along my spi
ne that isn’t because of the cold.
Jason and I stop in the clearing, listening to the roar of the river as we stare towards our old playground.
‘Ellie says it’s coming down soon,’ I say.
‘I can’t believe it’s still here.’
It’s hard to hear much over the water, so we cut back towards the woods, finding shelter under the canopy of a sprawling oak. The watermill sits on the edge of my vision in the same way it does my thoughts.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jason says.
There’s sincerity in what he says and that only makes me feel guiltier for my part in everything.
‘I should’ve visited you,’ I reply. ‘Or written back at the very least. It wasn’t fair.’
He shrugs. It’s not like he can disagree.
‘I couldn’t face you,’ I add. ‘I was immature and stupid. Still getting over Wayne and the crash.’
Jason nods. He must know this is true. He’s had twenty years to think about it.
‘I was the rebound...’
He somehow makes it sound like a statement of fact and a question at the same time.
‘Yes.’
The rustle of the woods and the ripple of the river take over our conversation for a moment as the wind whips venomously through the trees. It feels like nature itself is listening in.
‘I didn’t plan it like that,’ I add. ‘It’s not like I woke up one morning and thought I’d replace one brother with the other. It just happened.’
We should have had this conversation all those years ago but some things only become apparent with time. Age changes people. It gives context and experience. Sometimes that’s for the better, sometimes not.
‘I think I knew that,’ Jason replies. ‘I wanted to be with you when you were seeing Wayne – and then, when you weren’t… I let it happen. I—’
‘Don’t.’
He’s about to say something else but stops in the middle of a word. I can’t think of Wayne at the moment. It’s too much.
‘You went on hunger strike,’ I say.
He’s quiet for a moment and takes a few paces off towards the next tree, where he picks at a shard of loose bark. He’d rather not talk about it – but I could say the same.
‘Did you want to kill yourself?’ I ask.
‘No.’ He sighs and then quickly adds, ‘Yes… Maybe… I don’t know. I was messed up back then. They were going to let me die.’
‘But you changed your mind?’
‘I guess.’
He reaches out to take my hand but I pull away and shake my head. He reels back, embarrassed. He says sorry but I say there’s no need. We stand awkwardly for a few moments and then I spot a tree stump on the edge of the clearing. The felled trunk stretches off into the woods, with moss and leaves clumping and growing, giving it a new lease of life. I cross the soft ground and then sit on the stump. Jason follows, sitting on the other side so that we’re back to back. I lean against him and he presses against me so that we’re supporting one another’s weight.
‘Was it because of me?’ I ask.
‘What?’
‘The fire, the trouble… was that all because we broke up?’
I feel his chest rising through his back. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘That it’s not my fault.’
He says nothing. One second. Two. Three. It’s enough.
I slump forward a little, holding my head in my hands. It’s not news, I suppose. My boyfriend died and I rebounded onto his brother, who’d always had a crush on me. When I realised what I was doing and broke it off, he went off the rails – and ended up behind bars. Among all that, my best friend is their sister.
I’ve known for a long time how much of a mess that all is. With Jason in prison, I’ve been able to suppress it, to forget my own role in it all. It’s far more difficult to do that now. I sometimes think that what I did to Jason was the worst thing I ever did. I knew he had a crush on me. I was older and I let it happen.
‘I should’ve said no to you,’ I say. ‘The problem was that, after that first time, it was already too late. You were never going to be your brother. We were always going to break up.’
‘We didn’t have to.’
‘We did. You’d always remind me of him.’
There’s a cough that might be a sob. All of this is long overdue. It should have been said back then. The truth is, Jason and I never had anything in common. It’s not like we ever went out for meals, or cosy Sunday drives. We had no money. It was all cheap fags and booze. Everything between was physical. It made the pain of what happened with Wayne go away… even if it never lasted for long.
Jason’s not speaking but I can feel his spine rubbing against mine as he bobs up and down.
‘I didn’t think Ellie would ever talk to me again,’ I say. ‘She didn’t for a while. She was so angry at us – and then, after you were arrested, she started again.’
‘She had nobody else. You were like sisters. Of course she turned to you.’
He’s right – but she is actually his sister and he’s had to make do with sporadic visits while Ellie and I have carried on as normal without him.
‘Sorry.’
It’s the only word I can say. I mean it but it doesn’t feel like enough.
‘Don’t be. No one forced me to set fire to that pub.’
I feel his back tense, so stand and turn, looking down as his body straightens. His fists are balled tightly.
‘What?’ I say.
He doesn’t turn. ‘Sometimes I think about all the years I’ve lost.’
Perhaps it’s not what he says but the way he says it. There’s bubbling fury in his voice. A volcano that’s hissing and fizzing, ready to blow. He practically spits the words and, for a moment, a ripple of fear surges through me. Nobody knows we’re here and there’s likely no one anyone near us. My guilt has put me in this position and now I’m stuck. A vein in Jason’s neck bulges as he continues to squeeze his hands into coiled fists.
Can it be a coincidence that Jason’s release has coincided with that morning I woke up in a field? With things going missing or being moved in the house? Perhaps it’s not Dan at all, perhaps it’s Jason – although it still wouldn’t explain the stun gun in Dan’s locker.
‘You’ve got to stop hanging around the house,’ I say.
He doesn’t turn. ‘Okay.’
‘I’ll give you my phone number. If you want to talk, or if you need to ask something, call me. Or text. Everyone texts nowadays. The world’s different than it was when we were kids.’
He nods, still not turning around.
I take a step back towards the path, asking if he’s coming. For a moment, I think he’s going to stay where he is – but he doesn’t. He stands, head bowed, hands in pockets and traipses with me back to the car.
I wanted his forgiveness, but the truth is, with or without it, I don’t forgive myself. I swapped one brother for another – and that’s one of those things a person simply doesn’t do.
And then there’s what I did to Wayne.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Saturday
The bed in the spare room is so comfortable that I have no idea why I didn’t start sleeping in here months or years before. I suppose it was the stigma of separate bedrooms – but it’s fantastic. I wrap myself around the pillow: one arm under, one over, then spread out and close my eyes. There are no errant limbs crossing the invisible no man’s land along the centre of the bed. No invading forces to repel. No grunts and snores in the middle of the night – or, if there are, they belong to me and nobody else cares. It’s a whole new world. Why did anyone ever decide that couples needed to sleep – actually sleep – together?
I expect to dream of Dan and Jason, of unexplained guns, of steering wheels, blood, cloudy nights and shadowed fields. It’s only when I wake up the next morning that I realise hours have passed. My arm is dead from barely moving but the fuzz has cleared from my thoughts and I finally feel alert.
I shower, dress and head downstairs. Dan is on the sofa and snaps the laptop lid closed as I cross to the kitchen. Not much point in asking what he was looking at.
‘I can move out in two weeks,’ he says.
His words stop me dead, still a pace or two from the kettle.
‘Sorry?’
‘Two weeks,’ he repeats. ‘I got an email from the landlord overnight. The old tenants are moving out early because they’re buying a place. One minute the sale was on, then it was off, now it’s back on again. You know what these things can be like: nothing happens for months and then it’s all go.’
I quickly recompose myself, or attempt to give that impression at least. I touch the side of the kettle and it’s warm, so I start to make myself a cup of tea.
‘That’s a bit quicker than we thought,’ I say.
‘True – but that’s not a problem, is it?’
‘No, but I suppose we’ve not really talked everything through in regards to money and the house…’
Dan waits as I fill the mug with water, drop a teabag in and then give it a swish and a squeeze with a spoon. Traditionalists would blow a gasket at the spoon usage.
I perch on the second sofa, cradling the mug for warmth. After all the talking, it finally feels as if this is happening.
‘I’d hope we can agree that it’s better to do this without lawyers,’ Dan says. ‘The minute we involve them, any money will get soaked up. We’re both adults, after all.’
The way he says it makes it sound like an implication that he’s the adult and his plan is the grown-up thing to do. Anything else would be childish.
I let it go.
‘That sounds like a good place to start,’ I reply.
‘We’ve each got our own cars, so no reason to change anything about that…’
He pauses for a moment but I agree.
When it’s clear I’m fine with the suggestion, he asks if there’s anything in particular that I want.
I look around the room, taking in the television, the phone docks, the appliances in the kitchen. I’d not thought of it much before but it’s quickly apparent that this is all just stuff. In the end, none of it matters. Possessions can be replaced and it’s people who matter.
Last Night Page 20
